In Outstretched Hands
by A-Chan
Summary: When someone gives Severus Snape a helping hand after another one of James Potter's pranks, he finds something more than he bargained for. [Post-OOTP]
1. In Outstretched Hands

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Respects to Hyde for song lyrics of Shallow Sleep, it is not used for profit.  
  
**ANs**: Lovely song. I must say, you should download this song first. He sang it in Japanese and in English so I say, download both versions. The words are simply beautiful. He wrote the English version to the song, so I'm not surprised, really. Each song off his Rotengen album has both a Japanese and English version, (unless the song is already in English) so it's not really hard to understand the songs at all. :D  
  
Anyways, I wrote this while listening to the song at nine-am. Quite an interesting thought came in mind, so I wrote it. It's in Severus' POV in his teenage years, and the odd person that came... This is going to be a one-shot, unless I get that plotbunny out of the closet...  
  
Enjoy!

* * *

**In Outstretched Hands**  


  
**"**...I gently held out my hand, and in that perfect moment, you disappeared...**"**

****

  
**Hyde, Shallow Sleep**

  


I remembered being pushed to the ground, feeling the dirt underneath me. I could hear several students snickering, making idle comments as I tried to get up. My body couldn't stand to move; that damn hex Potter put on me was harder than I thought.   
  
I tried again.   
  
Before I could make that successful attempt, a slender hand hovered out in front of my face. I looked up, staring into emerald eyes. He was smiling, almost as if he was _glad_ to be helping me.  
  
I shot a glare at him, refusing to be helped by someone like him. What did he take me for a clumsy, klutzy, dunderhead? I think not.  
  
I felt my lips curl into a sneer. "I don't need help getting up."  
  
Obviously my threats were futile. The annoying bugger, can't he leave me alone?  
  
The ache in my legs and body grew stronger. Cursing myself, I knew I was in it this time. Potter and his damn friends just _had_ to sneak up on me and hex my ass to blazing hell, didn't they? God and they kept on taunting me with a chorus of things consisting of "Snivelly" constantly. Hell, the damn bastards. I'll show them.   
  
His hand was still held out in front of me.  
  
"Hey, I don't bite you know... And those guys _are_ insensitive arseholes. They shouldn't be doing that."

If I didn't know better, I'd say this guy was disappointed at the way they acted. The only person who gives a shit about that is Evans, and I don't need _her_ ass trying to save me either.  
  
He grumbled silently, "They ought to know better. Don't they realize...?"  
  
My suspicions were correct. But why the hell would he want to care about their welfare and the way they were treating me? Who was this idiot anyway? I guess he ought to know a thing or two around here. Potter and his damn gang hate me and I hate them. End of story.  
  
He seemed to have recognized he was rambling to himself. He gestured his hand out to me again.  
  
"I don't give a damn if people look at me weird. I'm used to it."   
  
He tipped his head, "Besides, I _**want**_ to help you. If you push me away, you are sincerely being a git."  
  
He scanned his eyes around the area, as he chuckled to himself, acting as if we were old friends or something.  
  
"Come on," turning his head to watch more passing students, "You don't want to be down there forever, do you?"  
  
I was rather inclined to say yes. He kept on being a nuisance. I liked staring at the sky, it was rather...pleasant. Or at least, it was more pleasant than _him_ hanging around me.  
  
My body twinged. So much for damn luck, I thought. Potter must have added a spell to make this thing last longer.   
  
Damn, _damn, **damn**_.  
  
Reluctantly, I took his hand, feeling supported on my feet. I couldn't help but give a side glance, wondering who the hell this stupid idiot was.  
  
I heard him murmur the countercurse as he swished his wand out at me. The tension in my body was gone. I turned to glare back at him again.  
  
He smiled. Something in his eyes...no, just the way he _looked_ shot off detectors in my brain. He was **_smiling_**?! He was even more idiotic than I thought.  
  
As I brushed myself off, I was about to (all the while, hesitantly) say thanks.  
  
He was gone.  
  
I stared at my hand for awhile, pondering over the words he had said.

__

_'__I_ **want** _to help you...'_

  
  
The action was innocent, filled with kindness. For a moment, it was if he didn't care about anything except _me_. Almost as if he was accepting me for me...  
  
I shook my head. Who in hell would want to befriend me? The guy had no sense what so ever.  
  
I felt my hand drop to my side as I picked up my bag from the ground. Walking towards the castle, I felt the corners of my mouth tug up in a smirk, smugly.   
  
For the last five minutes, I was trying to figure out who he was. I'm certain he looked to be fifteen or sixteen, with green eyes and black hair with glasses. There was none of those kinds of people in Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff that _I_ knew of, and certainly none of the Slytherins.  
  
A realization hit me. Those descriptions fit James Potter. But Potter was the one who caused this mess. Why would he try to go and help _me_?  
  
But the eyes...they weren't of Potter's brown ones. No, they were green. That reminds me of Evans, actually. I cringed.  
  
He was a mixture of Lily Evans and James Potter. How damn ironic was that?  
  
I started laughing at the thought. What a joke. What the hell was I thinking? That's truly impossible.  
  
I kept walking, past the people to my next class.   
  
That didn't put a stop to my good mood the rest of the day. 


	2. Artistic Living

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Respects to Third Eye Blind for song lyrics of Motorcycle Drive By, it is not used for profit.

**AN****s**: I got a little chapter happy. Literally. I started working on one chapter and then it started to become two chapters, and I'm going to finish the third one later. I decided to pursue this plot bunny, since it's been chasing me EVERYWHERE since I've captured it.

I've also written a fic called **Of Fog and Field** which has crucial info on how Harry is able to time-travel in this fic. It's really odd, but mostly that's the premise for it. That takes place during Goblet of Fire. The rest of the fic is after Order of the Phoenix, just to make clear.

I'm so tired, this chapter is just SO long and it's early morning. Expect by tomorrow, hopefully that I'll write the next chapter. The third chapter (handwritten) is just driving me crazy. It's just so...long. lol

This song is just...it screams "Harry!" to me after what happened in Order of the Phoenix. It does. The song, in itself reminds me of Harry in its own fashion, even if it talks about love rather than death, but these lines just struck home to me, and for this fic, somehow. Download it, it's lovely too. It just screams Harry with its emotionality, and when it gets to the middle and the guy screams (not in a bad way and not in a pleasurable way either...) it was just "Harry".

I don't know where Sev and Harry are going with this, whether it's friendship or more, but I'll have to see how it works.

Also, the spacing was worked out so you can tell what is the dream and what _isn't_ so sorry if the horizontal rulers are bugging you, I tried. It was the only think that is working now since FF.NET has this quickedit thingy...x.X

I'm in desperate need for a beta. If you want to beta, just email me. My info is on the author page, so yeah. AIM, YIM or email is fine. :) Thanks!

Enjoy the fic.

* * *

**"**...I've never been so alone   
And I've never been so alive...**"**

Third Eye Blind, **Motorcycle Drive**** By**

* * *

Harry was never a stranger to dreams. Dreams were the cousins of nightmares; ones who had acquainted Harry with their distinct features, their presence all too familiar for his liking.

As related as they were, these dreams were not nightmares, though the information inside them could indeed scare someone. Most dreams, in the end, came out with a truth—happy or not so happy, depending on the person—in the end.

These were the kinds of dreams Harry did not remember for a long time, though he was no stranger. These were in fact, dreams he had wholeheartedly witnessed, but they erased themselves in his mind; unknowingly, it seemed. How odd the timing was, it was almost as if they had a mind of their own...

But tonight, Harry would remember.

* * *

It had been a typical summer night at the Dursleys, after dark, after midnight, when everyone in the house would have been sleeping.

Not Harry Potter.

Harry, whose sight was always nowadays accompanied with clammy sheets and tight-gripping hands, would appear distressed; tossing and turning, with a high-strung expression on his face.

It would be like last summer, replaying the worst events in his mind. In this case, it was not the death of Cedric, but the death of his own godfather, Sirius Black.

Sirius, who understood how he felt, was the only man who cared for Harry before getting killed. He was always there for the best interests of Harry, a supportive man, even when he did not know the answers himself.

The only man Harry truly loved and lost in such a short amount of time.

And Harry would replay the event, in the Department of Mysteries, where the veil was located. He would be witnessing him cackling and taunting at his own cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, telling her, "Come on, you can do better than that!"

As if on cue, there would be two jets of light: the first one red, and the other one, too quick and too far to tell. But he would watch Sirius' body tumble into a graceful arc, into the veil...and in his mind, Harry could feel the magnitude of his own screams, just as loud as that day, calling for Sirius; feeling the weight of Lupin holding him down.

But it seemed Harry had screamed too much, feeling the energy used for shouting making him dizzy; his vision was blurring and he was overwhelmed with pain. Before he saw black, he could feel himself losing consciousness; almost as if forgetting it all.

* * *

Harry looked around, blinking, as his vision returned and everything was bright and clear again. He felt his eyes squint, using his hand to block the sun to adjust to seeing correctly. It looked like the Hogwarts grounds, but...it was empty.

Harry removed his hand, taking in the view of the Hogwarts lake; bright blue, and crisp, the skies above them clear with white cirrus clouds. Everything seemed to be in vivid, rich color. The silence was calm and soothing, making him smile.

As he surveyed the ground, he spotted someone in the shade of the tree. With his curiosity getting the better of him, Harry walked toward the boy, seeing distinct features as he grew closer.

Who was he? Why was he the only one there? What was he doing?

He noticed the boy was immersed in a book. Harry smirked, reminded of Hermione's own antics.

He sat down next to the boy, who was sharply focused on the book. As he leaned over, he noticed it wasn't just _any_ old book, it was a sketchbook! Harry watched as the boy placed lines in distinct places; making shapes on a two-dimensional plane. It looked pretty realistic to him.

Harry gazed and watched the boy; his face was so undeniably relaxed that he looked extremely young and innocent.

As Harry tried to find something appropriate to say on his drawing, the boy looked up, finally out of his own world.

Shock was temporarily on his face as the boy's eyes narrowed.

"Who are you?" he spat venomously. "What are you doing here?"

Keeling back, Harry's defenses kicked in as he remembered that very familiar tone in the boy's speech.

It all made sense now. He took in the black hair and eyes, that damn _familiar_ ugly nose, and the innocent expression was gone. Here, was hatred Harry had fondly remembered all too well.

Snape.

Harry blinked, for a moment, remembering this wasn't _really_ Snape. At least, Snape in his time. He looked to be at least _his_ age, so he couldn't go and take off points or give detention.

Besides, if it was _Harry's_ dream, he could do whatever he wanted, right? At least, he could change the outcome. It wasn't Voldemort messing with his mind, transplanting false images, or visions _from_ Voldemort doing treacherous things.

Harry's anger fell within him as he reasoned things out. He breathed in and sighed.

He would become friendly, instead.

Harry pointed his finger to the sketch, pinpointing to a specific line. "You know, right over there," he gestured to it again, "you made it a little too _straight_ looking. Looks unnatural, you know?"

Snape looked at him, trying to search for some ulterior motive within all this. He had found none.

Looking back from the book to the image in front of him, he calculated, "Perhaps you're right..." His voice still had an edge to it. The line soon turned into something more realistic as he fell back into his relaxed state.

After awhile, Snape turned to Harry, examining him. Harry could feel it too; it was the feeling he associated with his fame. That one look that seemed to ask, "Is that scar _really_ the scar?" But in this case, it asked a different question.

Snape's face eventually left that guarded expression, opening up a little.

He moved his face closer, "So, you're who helped me the other day, weren't you?"

Harry blinked in confusion. When did this happen? Had he really helped Snape in another dream he had? Was this even a _dream_? It was oddly bizarre... He mentally shrugged, going along with the charade.

He feigned his words. "Yeah, they weren't nice, were they?" Words tumbled out, unknowingly. "Stupid gits, really."

Harry didn't know where he got that from. _Who_ were the evil gits? What precisely happened _anyway_? His curiosity was dying to know.

Snape smirked back, as if in an approving stance. He apparently liked Harry's answer.

"Yeah, they were stupid. I'll get them though." His face was schooled in a determined look.

"They hexed me again, and they'll pay for it. Especially that damn Potter..."

His eyes were swirling with anger. "He hexed me again while I was off guard. I'll teach him not to mess with me..."

Harry drank every word in, filling the missing blanks. He, apparently, had helped Snape, after his father hexed Snape. That was quite lovely, he thought dryly. His father was _truly _being a git, yet again. He sighed.

As if to lighten up moods, Snape offered, "Do you mind if I sketch you?"

Harry was surprised. Was he _good_ enough to be Snape's sketching model? It was something new, he could tell all that much. He shrugged, going along with it.

"Sure, I guess..."

Harry kept looking out in front of him, watching Snape's movements become graceful lines on the parchment paper. He was impressed by the hand control, the skill, the coordination. The action itself seemed even more entrancing than him imagining Snape over a cauldron, brewing a potion.

He wondered what Snape had more talent in: Art or Potions. He didn't dare ask, seeing as Harry was fixed on the idea that Snape was more of an artist than a Potions Master.

Several minutes passed by and he could feel himself fall into ease as well. Snape—out of all the people—was not bothering to interrogate about him, or how he was feeling, or what dreams he had witnessed, nothing. He was just sketching Harry as if he was some local student he managed to ask a random question. Harry felt better, more at ease with himself, _feeling _like himself for once.

As more details flew onto the paper, Snape broke the silence, continuing to draw while creating conversation. "What's your name?"

His voice was genuine, not in some weird suspicious paranoid tone. Harry smiled a little. "My name's Harry. You?"

The other teenager glanced up at Harry before returning to the paper. "My name's Snape...Severus Snape."

After watching him for several minutes, Harry noticed he was not in that relaxed face, but in a determined look.

Speak of the devil! Harry watched as he eventually fell into relaxation, so immersed in whatever he was doing. It was such determination and happiness that he was in awe of. It was the thought of a single-minded goal being achieved in the purest sense; it was wonderful to witness, and it was even sweeter when success made happiness bloom.

While he was in awe, he wondered why Snape was being so open. Did he _really_ trust him?

Almost as if questioning Harry's mind, Snape said hesitantly, "You know...you remind me of someone when I was small..." His voice had been tiny and nearly inaudible. If it weren't so silent, Harry would not have heard it at all.

Snape didn't know what to think. Why in hell did he trust Harry? Hell, why was he _saying_ this stuff to him? This guy was only a stranger; someone he knew because he _helped_ him the other day. He didn't even know him that well. Besides, it was creepy enough that he looked like the lovechild of Lily Evans and James Potter. Ugh.

Harry raised an eyebrow as he cautiously asked, "What do you mean, exactly...?"

How could it be? How in the blazing hells did someone manage to _look _like him in _Snape's_ childhood, of all places? Did he just randomly do some spell to go to the past and befriend him when he was young? Or was he only fooling himself? Because the thought was crazy and impossible! If Ron were here, he would say, "Bloody hell, Harry! Are you off _your_ rocker now?!"

Snape's voice brought him back to reality. It was as if he was speaking from a far off place, remembering...reminiscing... "He had hair like yours, eyes just as green...and that _was_ his name too..."

Almost as if it were too good an opportunity to pass up, with pleading eyes, he asked, "Maybe you **_are_** him...?"

What was he begging him to be? A childhood friend he never was? Or was he? Harry didn't know, but he didn't want to disappoint Snape. It was a shame, the guy was acting a little more his _own _age. It was quite a nice change.

He tried to snap out of it. This was incredibly bizarre. He was becoming _instant_ friends with Snape, and now he's convinced that he was his long lost childhood friend. That was _definitely_ weirder than being off "his rocker"...a lot more.

Snape shook his head, eyes downcast, "No...He's gone now." He sighed, as if sure of it. Harry couldn't feel anymore sad for him.

As if to change the topic, he said, "I'm finished. Want a look?"

Harry leaned over to get a clearer view of the picture. It was a new experience for him. He was _happy_ for once, content and comfortable in his own skin. He was truly, _him_.

Harry grinned, "Wow...that does look like me, huh? You're really good you know..." He laughed happily, as Snape pointed out various places where he felt like it was a mistake or some other. Harry could see, yes, part of his ear was slightly messed up, but could be fixed by adding another line. In some parts, Harry had to disagree completely.

"But you see here," he pointed, "it looks much more natural looking instead of if you drew it _that_ way. Besides, it's not the end of the world." Harry was enjoying unleashing his artistic side.

Harry could feel himself smirking as he convinced _he_ was right for once, and to Snape no less! And Snape wasn't trying to kick his ass for it either. It felt nice and strange at the same time.

After awhile, it came back to the silence. The peaceful salve to their own heady pasts and pains, fixing things that needed to be righted.

Harry felt Snape's eyes on him, as if trying to figure out how his brain worked. Harry stared back, falling victim to the deep deep black of his eyes...and how everything seemed to have been fading...

* * *

It seemed Harry had been light as he felt himself hover back into the heaviness of his own body. He opened his eyes, only to find himself staring at the window without his glasses, the silhouette of the bars on the window reminding him of where he was.

It was still dark out, so the Dursleys were probably sleeping.

Harry sat up in bed, as he stretched his arms out, yawning. Had that really been a dream? It seemed longer than an hour, yet, it seemed only a few minutes may have gone by.

Harry got out of bed, placing his glasses on as he walked toward the window. Why was Snape being happy with smiles giving Harry peace of mind? Why was everything going differently? Harry had been nice, and under the snarkiness, Snape wasn't anymore than a heavily troubled guy who could have a normal life like Harry wanted.

He tried to reason with himself. He was definitely losing his mind. Harry was too tired to think about it all.

Gazing up at the moon, it beamed on him, with its crescent shape. It was only a matter of time... An unexpected yawn reached his lips as he stretched again, this time walking back to his bed.

Hopping back in, Harry took off his glasses and finally snuggled under the sheets.

For the first night that summer, Sirius' death did not taunt him that night.


	3. Fleeting Pain and Memories

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.   
  
**AN**s: If you were bored enough to go read my lj, it would probably make sense to why I didn't write. But, if you didn't, here goes.   
  
I tried to catch up my sleep, but it seems my dad's perfectionist ways got to him, and he was bothered by my mode of sleeping. So he decided to go and announce I should change it [for him, but he didn't say that aloud, but it was his intent]. Says I'm wasting my life sleeping and what not. So whenever the urge to go and write or doodle was up, I slept it down. Most of the time, the attempt was near crap anyways.   
  
So after lots of downloading new music, plenty of fic, and reading long threads of canon discussion, here it is.  
  
It's mostly filler, I guess. In a way. More dreams, more crappy writing. But it's better than the other attempts I tried to write. They were so much crap. Still think it is crap, but I'm trying, I'm trying. :) I am, after all, inexperienced.   
  
Enjoy!

* * *

"We do not know what we believe unconsciously,   
but it is almost certainly not what we   
consciously believe we believe."  
  
** Global Mind Change: The Promise of the 21st Century, _Willis W. Harman_**

  
  
These new dreams were occurring more often than he liked. It was as if they replaced the time slot of his usual nightmares, robbing him of tearing madness and guilt. He tried clearing his mind every night, as he tried to remember each occlumency lesson.   
  
It was oddly suspicious.   
  
He could feel his defenses tighten every night, and only the nightmares came. No visions from Voldemort, no weird, out of place dreams. Only the nightmares, with Sirius falling; so beautiful, but yet so wrong, sickeningly wrong, as his stomach clenched.   
  
But these other dreams he witnessed, they were so surreal; real, and wonderful, and blissfully...normal. Or at least, close to normal he could get. Maybe, he just knew to expect them, remembering their schedule.   
  
Regardless, he had enjoyed them. Most of the time, they were pleasant, and pretty easy-going. Though the last one, he cringed, was pretty whacked. It made Harry all the wiser.   
  


* * *

  
  
It had been a blur. The cold, chilled feeling of the room never left him, as he felt his feet against the cool ground. The room was covered in hard stone, shielding to rid itself of emotion, lacking the warmth and feeling of the Gryffindor Common Room.   
  
_Makes you wonder about Slytherins too,_ Harry thought. _No wonder most of them were testy bastards. As if they would live in a nice and cozy place._   
  
The place hadn't changed in the last four years; still as icy and unwelcoming as the shadows danced around the room. The leather couches were lined with smooth leather, and Harry supposed they were rather comfy. Maybe the only place _to_ get comfy in.   
  
Something caught his eye, as he turned to face the blanket-clad couch. He stepped closer to find it was accompanying a person.   
  
It was night—by the looks of the room—and the silence surrounding him. It was ringing in his ears—a dull ring, but one nonetheless. Only cracking fire and scratching quills stopped him from drowning in it.   
  
He tip-toed closer, still covered by shadow, as he made out the profile of the boy in front of him. It was Snape, and his huge nose was silhouetted by the firelight.   
  
There was a minty-scent in the air, spotting the bottle of salve near him on the table. Books were strewn across the table, scattered open to various pages.   
  
So, Snape was doing homework. Not to mention, in the middle of the bloody Slytherin Common Room. He spotted several bruises on his arm; highlighted by the little light there was, and it seemed they were covered in the salve.   
  
As he scribbled away, he watched as dark intense eyes scanned the page, pausing every so often. Intense, but still focused.   
  
Fondness filled Harry as he remembered how Hermione once looked like that. Determined, but passionately focused. How Hermione-esque he was looking.   
  
It still drudged up past memories of the one from the pensieve, his beetle-black eyes scanning the page, his nose all too close to the parchment; his father's and his father's friend's words ("'Snivelly', 'Snivellus', '...There'll be great grease marks all over it, they won't be able to read a word...'") taunting, chanting, evil evil, you're worthless, you're a _freak_....   
  
Harry snapped out of it, his hands in fists, and his nails digging into his flesh. He was surprised he wasn't bleeding. This wasn't a time for self-examination.   
  
He had not totally cleared his mind though, still swirling in thoughts as his trainers skidded against the floor. He stared inquisitively, trying to imagine why the hell he was in his trainers, why was he fully clothed, but all realized that he was found out.   
  
He froze.   
  
He watched as he saw Snape pause, putting his quill in his inkpot. Harry bit his lip. His face was now looking in the direction of where Harry stood. He got up to his feet, his heart pounding as each step brought him closer to Harry.   
  
_Shit, he's going to find me._   
  
In the dark, Snape had grabbed his neck.   
  
"Look who it is," he sneered, sounding like _Malfoy_.   
  
The light was bright enough to showcase his Potter-esque features; that is, the messy hair and his glasses.   
  
His voice was spoken with delight in his tongue, as if relishing sweet revenge.   
  
"Caught in the act. You think I'll be stupid enough to let you go?"   
  
Smirking, he hissed in his ear, "I don't think so."   
  
Fear was running wild, hopping around in his veins, and his stomach, feeling unprepared for this. Snape was going to kick his ass, his conscious told him.   
  
Shit, shit, shit, shit, _shit_.   
  
He felt Snape's fists coming in contact with his stomach, followed by endless kicks in various places, but mostly to his stomach. He had been lost in his thoughts, unguarded, _vulnerable_...   
  
'_You should always be on your guard, Potter,_' his inner Snape bitched. '_It does not prove to show how much of a dunderhead you are if someone manages to attack you, even if the odds are in your favor._'   
  
Harry swore he smirked at him.   
  
'_Then again, if **you** are what you call "The Wizarding World's" savior, then you are helpless and pathetic, even by your standards. What a pity this world has gone too._'   
  
He felt his body collapse to the ground, his head keeling over by the hard knock he received. Pain, so much pain, piled onto of him. He let himself be attacked, and thoroughly. And he hadn't even started on hexes yet.   
  
Instinctively, he clutched his stomach, now noticing his glasses had been thrown aside.   
  
"I want to see your face as I give you the hell you've given to me."   
  
Harry's blood ran cold.   
  
Snape was looming over him, smirking, with a triumphant, but ravenous look to him, as if he, Harry, were prey.   
  
He could see the outline of Snape pulling out his wand, Harry's mind screaming obscenely ('Oh fuck, oh shit, oh GOD, he's going to kill me, help me, help me...') when he lit his wand. As the light came closer to his eyes, blinding him, he braced himself for the incoming pain.   
  
Nothing came except a couple of curses from Snape's lips and Snape's blurry reflection kneeling down next to Harry, his expression changed. He felt his hand slap his cheek lightly; trying to redirect his attention to the shame, worry, and outright guilt he could see in his eyes.   
  
"You bastard, you should have said it was you."   
  
Everything was turning blurry at the edges, as pain went through Harry. He groaned; it had all been too much.   
  
"You know you look entirely like _Potter_, but damnit..."   
  
Curiosity seemed to get the better of Snape.   
  
"How'd you get in here?"   
  
Harry was in no mood for questioning. In fact, he wasn't in any mood at all, except to lie down, and close his eyes, to let everything go away nice and slowly...   
  
Everything faded into nothing, vaguely hearing Snape saying something ("Shit, I've done it now.") before he hit total darkness.   
  


* * *

  
  
When he did wake up from the dream, the pain was still there, and was still all too real. He recalled that next day happening, as he tried to avoid keeling over from the bruising, not trying to make more.   
  
Only now he could stare blankly at the ceiling. What did these dreams mean? Sure, the sight of Sirius was gone, for which he was grateful—   
  
'_Grateful? Maybe because it was **your** fault he's dead anyway. And remember when you said it was **beautiful**? You know you did it, you know you want to forget, because in all due honesty, you don't want to remember the feelings that rush in you when you see it happen, again, and again..._'   
  
This wasn't his inner voice, just another one of those guilty voices egging him on...so much more different, and with a sneering tone.   
  
He shut his eyes, willing his guiltiness away.   
  
It had been his fault. All these dreams were created so he could get away from it all.   
  
His inner voice returned.   
  
'_Why Snape?_'   
  
Flashing images glittered in his eyes, flooding him, taking him back somewhere, yet again.   
  
Was it Voldemort this time?   
  


* * *

  
  
He felt his body heavily sinking in—like the night before last—watching as he felt himself dragging along, Snape not too far away.   
  
"You imbecile..."   
  
Snape tugged at his sleeve, taking him to a darker corner of Diagon Alley.   
  
"If you had walked _any_ further," spitting, sounding like the future Snape, "James Potter and his damn groupies he calls _friends_ would have seen you."   
  
Snape was glaring down at him, but not the perfected glare he was used to. The repercussions of his actions fell down upon his confused mind: after all, he was transported into Diagon Alley when he was still in bed.   
  
He tried swallowing the lump in his throat, as he felt fear rising in his stomach.   
  
"You look too much like Potter, as I'd like to admit," he sneered.   
  
Where had he heard that before? They all said he looked entirely like his father, and had his mother's eyes. Yadi yadi yada. Did he need reminding?   
  
"But if they caught you, it'll be much worse than if you are with me."   
  
He wasn't so sure to that. Then again, maybe they saw him with Snape. _That_ in itself could mean a lot of things for the both of them.   
  
He stared out at the busy people, walking the bustling street, as Snape took out his wand.   
  
"I'm going to disguise you. I'll be damned if I let them catch you like _that_."   
  
As he heard Snape say several incantations and spells, he felt his face and body molding into a different shape. No doubt he did something with his hair and eyes, but there was no mirror to look into.   
  
Snape smirked at his handiwork as he placed his wand in his pocket. He crossed his arms, black eyes trailing over Harry. And he could feel his gaze looking him over—"Oh God, Snape? Harry, are you _really_ mental?" He could hear his inner Ron say, with a berating Hermione scolding him for insulting a teacher—sending shivers down his spine.   
  
"Fine."   
  
Snape had now stopped looking and turned around.   
  
"Follow me."   
  
He nodded as he complied with his friend's wishes. Wherever they went, Harry did not see much to tell, as his vision swarmed again.   
  


* * *

  
  
He blinked as he found himself in bed, in the same position he had left in.   
  
He was in disbelief.   
  
Where in hell did _that_ come from?   
  
He shut his eyes, trying to calm down his frantic heart.   
  
'_Just go to sleep, Harry_,' he told himself. This was all too real, and all too freaky, and just...sudden.   
  
Everything ebbed away into nothing, as he eventually fell back to sleep.   
  
Things only got worse.  



End file.
